


Breathless

by ArgentLives



Series: Across Every Universe (You are Home) [7]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Asthma, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris discovers the surprising benefits of running when she ends up sharing a trail with a cute stranger and his adorably sunny smile. Turns out physical exertion isn't the only thing that can make her breathless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt: "We pass each other every day while we’re biking on the same path so we’ve started smiling at each other and one day you’re stopped because you’re having an asthma attack so I offer you my extra water bottle and now we’re talking and now I’M the one who’s breathless AU" except I changed biking to running because running is cooler and this is a Flash AU, after all

Iris West is friends with the devil. More specifically, she’s friends with Linda Park, who—no matter what lies she’ll try to feed you—most definitely  _coerced_  her lovely roommate, her poor, faithful best friend, to run a 5K for charity. 

And here’s the thing: Iris doesn’t run. Like, ever. That’s not a thing that she does, that she ever wanted to do, that was ever supposed to happen—unless, say, she was being chased by a murderer, or relentlessly pursued by some wild animal, or outrunning some natural disaster, and even then, she’s not so sure…

Anyway: running. Not a thing.

Except that apparently it is now, because she’s such a goddamn good friend that she agreed to sign up for this stupid thing (under the assumption, of course, that Linda was planning on running it with her. Which she’s apparently not, and waited until after Iris had already signed up to tell her that fun little piece of information–the fucking traitor).

That’s how she’s come to this sad, sad reality: running every day, every  _fucking_  day (except Mondays, which don’t count in her book anyway), after all her classes, in that space of time before nightfall but well past the afternoon. A time where she should be watching Netflix, or eating, or relaxing, or doing work or, you know,  _not running._ But no, she’s stuck following some random-ass ‘couch-to-5K’ training plan that she found online. Literally the first result to come up on Google, too, because she hadn’t cared enough to find a better one.

There’s also the added complication that she attends a University in the city, and there’s not exactly ample places to run when you have to stop at every streetlight or else run the risk of getting hit by a car, and she’s already tired of the usual loop around campus. 

About two or three weeks into her training (she can finally jog for more than ten minutes without having to stop, or feeling like she’s going to pass out, who would’ve thought?), she runs far off enough off campus to find the perfect trail, a quiet little slice of woods in an otherwise busy, bustling city.

It’s pretty hidden, too, so for a whole, blissful mile, she thinks she has it all to herself, that she’s hit the jackpot, that surely no one else knows about it, and thank God—she  _finally_  doesn’t have to worry about people judging her for going so slow.

But it’s just as she’s thinking this, about how very alone she is, when she claps her eyes on him for the first time. He’s going so fast, so caught in the zone, that he doesn’t even look her way, doesn’t notice that she’s even there as he zooms right past her. Which is a shame, really, because he is  _cute_. Looks like he’s around her age, maybe a little bit younger, tall and long-legged, with just about the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen on a guy. 

So, she doesn’t have a monopoly on this trail, after all. Still…if every person she passes is that cute, really, she doesn’t mind sharing.

 

* * *

 

She returns to the same trail the next day, same time, just to see—and sure enough, he runs by her again, this time just a little bit further down the trail.  She even tries to smile at him, but once again he’s so caught up with putting one foot in front of the other that he doesn’t even seen her. His shoes are an alarming shade of red, she notes, his shirt somehow too big for him even though he’s actually really tall, compared to her.

 _Everyone is tall compared to you, Iris,_ she hears Linda’s voice in her head, ringing with laughter, and pushes it away in annoyance. 

Okay, well, even not based off her standards, he’s still pretty tall.

 

* * *

 

Another day, another run, and sure enough, he’s there again. She coughs very loudly just as he’s passing by, determined to get him to, at the very least, acknowledge her existence. It works, and he finally does, head snapping towards her in surprise. Clearly, he’d thought he’d been alone in knowing this place, too. She flashes him a smile, one of her best and brightest, and then something sort of strange happens. 

He seems to lose all coordination in his legs in the split-second that he’s staring at her, stumbling and very nearly tripping but catching himself just in time. She thinks he might’ve said something like _‘hi’_ or  _‘hello’_ , but it’s muted and muttered and his cheeks are colored red and then as quick as he’s there he’s gone, sprinting away as usual. She only smiles wider.

 

* * *

 

Same time, more or less same place the next day, she sees him again—only this time he’s prepared for her, slowing his pace up a bit as he runs by to give her a shy little wave along with a wide, toothy smile that, she concludes, can only be made of sunshine. There’s no other possible explanation, really.

And then the same thing the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and almost every day except Monday—which, for all she knows, he could be out there then too, but she’s definitely not. A wave, a nod hello, a smile in exchange for a smile, here and there a quick  _‘hi’_  (from him, that is, because she isn’t quite at the point yet where she can talk and run at the same time and, you know, still be able to breathe). 

It becomes a part of her daily routine,  _he_  becomes a part of her daily routine, this stranger and that lovely smile of his, and even though it only lasts a few seconds every time and they’ve never even spoken more than two words to each other before, it becomes something she looks forward to. Running doesn’t seem quite so awful anymore. Well, okay, yes it does, but it makes it just a little bit more bearable. There’s nothing she loves more than friendly strangers with adorable smiles—except maybe coffee.

 

* * *

 

A month-and-a-half to race day, she ticks off in her head, listening to the steady rhythm of her shoes against the earth beneath her—too loud, she knows, she’s got heavy steps and she pounds her feet too much and it can’t be good for her shins or her knees, but she can’t help it. She gets to the bend in the trail that she’s come to know so well, and feels her heart beat speed up a bit in anticipation. Sure enough, there’s the tell-tale tread of sneakers in the distance—much smoother and lighter than hers—and then soon enough she’s running past him again. He gives her that trademark sunny smile and she’s just about to return it when her gaze dips lower, and her expression all but freezes in place because this time— _this time he’s not wearing a shirt_. 

And  _fuck_ , she can’t stop staring. He’s skinny, sure, but he’s a lot more toned then she’d given him credit for, because he’s clearly been hiding some really nice muscles under those baggy t-shirts of his. 

Like, wow, is that a six pack? That’s definitely a six pack, and— _oh_! Those adorable little moles and freckles of his extend further than just his neck and his face, he’s got them scattered all over his chest and his shoulders too, and she’s just getting caught up in watching the sweat glistening on his bare skin and sliding down those abs of his when— _crack_.

Her foot falls on a rather large stick and snaps it straight in two, which is probably just about the luckiest thing that could possibly have happened for her because it forces her gaze forward, away from smiley-skinny-ab-guy, just in time to see the low-hanging tree branch headed  _straight for her face_. She lets out a little yelp of surprise and ducks underneath it just in a nick of time, very narrowly avoiding running straight into it. Her heart thuds in her chest, her skin suddenly flushed and cold at the near-disaster as the adrenaline floods through her veins. 

On top of all that, she can feel cheeks burning in mortification, and she hazards a glance over her shoulder to see if runner boy has noticed her unfortunate blunder. With a pang of dread her eyes meet his, and she realizes too late that he’s looking right back at her, having slowed down considerably. Once he realizes she’s caught him looking, he picks up his pace again and snaps his attention back facing-front, but not before she catches the self-satisfied little smirk on his face.

 _Oh_ ,  _alright then_ , she thinks, narrowing her eyes and turning back around in favor of glaring at his retreating figure, lest she run into an actual tree and make an even bigger fool of herself.  _So that’s how you wanna play it, Mr. Runner Boy. Well, two can play at that game._

 

* * *

 

The next day, same time as usual, she gets ready for her run just as she normally would, only this time she makes sure she wears the best sports bra she owns—a simple green one that does  _wonders_  for her chest—and a pair of her shortest short black spandex. And to top it all off, even though it’s not quite as hot as it was the day before, she deliberately doesn’t wear a shirt. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail and observes herself in the mirror, twisting this way and that, before finally nodding in satisfaction at her reflection. 

“Geez, Iris, it’s a run, not a beauty pageant. What, are you trying to impress someone?” Linda teases from her perch on her bed, peering at Iris around the side of her laptop.

Iris shrugs and flips her ponytail over her shoulder, refusing to let it deter her. She looks hot, and she knows it, and so does Linda. She’s counting on the fact that a certain someone else will too. “Maybe, maybe not. I gotta go, though—some of us actually _exercise_ , you know.”

And then she’s out the door before Linda can form a properly offended response, which serves her right, considering she should be out there running with her in the first place. Iris laces up her shoes and stretches a bit in the hallway, bouncing on the balls of her feet before making her way outside and taking off, giddy with anticipation.

_Game on, Oh-Shirtless-One. Game on._

 

* * *

 

As soon as she sees him, she gives him her very best smile, dimples and all. He smiles tentatively back, looking a little taken aback by her enthusiasm. She purposefully adjusts her sports bra so that he’ll be tempted to look, and sure enough— _jackpot_. Her chest swells with satisfaction as his gaze falls—well, precisely there. His eyes widen and then, with the air of someone trying hard to be subtle but failing abysmally, his eyes sweep the rest of her body, his adam’s apple bobbing in that long neck of his as he swallows, taking it all in. Her smile turns into a smirk that’s downright wicked. _Go big or go home,_ she thinks _,_  and just as he tears his gaze away from her body and back up to her face, she winks at him. It’s not her fault really, what happens next–except, okay, it totally is. But how was she supposed to know he was that easily flustered?

He stumbles, trips, and actually falls. Flat on his face.  _Hard._ She claps a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter— _not funny, Iris,_  she scolds herself,  _you could’ve caused serious injury to this poor boy—_ and stops, preparing to turn around and come to his aid. Except as soon as she starts towards him, he lifts his head off the ground, picks a twig out of his hair, and wipes a smudge of dirt off his red-tinged cheek (which only, unfortunately, only makes it worse, because his hands are also covered from dirt from breaking his fall). He gives her a single, horrified look, and then before she can even take another step he’s on his feet and bolting away, so fast she wonders if he’s somehow miraculously acquired super-speed.

 _Check mate_ , she thinks, and can’t fight the triumphant grin that spreads across her face as she watches him disappear further down the path–going, going, gone. Humming to herself, feeling sort of like an asshole but too proud to care, she turns around and resumes her own run, this time with a definite spring in her step. She idly hopes that he didn’t hurt himself too bad with that fall—but really, she can’t find it in her to feel too bad about it. After all, he did bring it on himself.

 

* * *

 

A cold front makes its way to Central City, in the middle of fall. Iris throws on a light fleece jacket and borrows a pair of running tights from Laurel (who she can always count on to lend her workout gear when she needs it because that girl’s, like, obsessed with fitness), and doesn’t think much of it. Really, it’s almost a relief, a nice break from all the hot weather, the lingering vestiges of a scorching summer. 

Halfway into her run, however, just as she’s gotten on her favorite trail, she realizes something is wrong. Her breathing is off, and it’s not like this is the longest run she’s done yet or the fastest she’s gone but her chest is burning so much it hurts to breathe and—yeah. It  _really_  hurts to breathe. She pushes herself a little bit further, reluctant to stop (she’s been doing so  _well_ —for her, at least), which is sort of, _really_ , a colossal mistake. Because now it doesn’t just hurt to breathe, now she  _can’t_  breathe, and she has no choice but to pause her run.

 _I’m dying_ , Iris thinks, stopping to bend over, gripping her knees and sucking in shallow, painful breaths.  _This is what dying feels like_.

She stands there like that, right smack dab in the middle of the trail, for a solid minute that drags on like an hour, breathing as though she’s sucking air in through a straw, lungs burning and head reeling from the lack of oxygen.

And then, probably because it’s exactly what she doesn’t want to hear right now, it’s precisely what she’s dreading but knows is coming anyway, she hears it—the crunching of leaves beneath his feet, the quick strides, the subtle footfalls. She notices a distinct change in his stride as the noise gets closer, one she recognizes as him slowing down, which can only be because he’s rounding the corner and seeing— _oh God_. Cute runner boy is going to see her doubled over and wheezing like a dying whale.

A beep—the sound of him stopping his watch, she thinks—and heavy breathing as he works to catch his own breath, and then those oh-so-recognizable red shoes come into focus. Which is the first thing she sees, because her gaze is still fixed on the ground before her, her head bent down and her palms digging hard into her knees. She squeezes her eyes shut in mortification and draws in another painful breath, too embarrassed to look up because he’s stopped right in front of her  _oh God oh God oh God—_

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Do I—look—okay—to you?” she wheezes, the words short and clipped as she struggles to drag air into her lungs.

The wounded-puppy look that graces his face is enough to make her feel guilty for snapping at him, although  _honestly_. What kind of question was that?

“Sorry—that was—rude. I just—can't— _breathe_.”

His expression softens, and he puts a comforting hand on her back, still bent over. “You look like you’re having an asthma attack, why don’t you sit down? And put your head between your knees, try to take deep breaths–in through your nose, out through your mouth. I know that seems kind of impossible right now, but you’re probably panicking a little bit too, and once you calm down it’ll get easier, I promise.”

She follows his instructions, plopping down on the ground and mentally apologizing to Laurel for the dirt she’s getting on her pants, fully expecting for that to be that and for him to be on his merry way. Except to her surprise, he sits down next to her, keeping that steady hand on her back, only now he’s running his thumb back and forth across it to calm her down. And it really  _is_  calming. 

Slowly, keeping her head bent down between her knees, her shallow, gasping breaths start to even out a bit, and she finds that breathing gradually becomes feasible again. She can actually breathe in deep, and then let it all out, and once the oxygen starts flowing again and the dizziness passes, she straightens her legs out and finally lifts her head, things coming back into focus.

Suddenly, she’s very aware of the hand still on her back, the warmth she can feel through her thin jacket, and her breath speeds up for an entirely different reason. He must realize it, too, because he pulls his hand away lightning-quick, scoots a little bit further away from her to put space between them, and gives her a sheepish smile, silently apologizing. She wants to tell him not to be sorry, that it’s okay, that him sitting there really did help and that she misses the comfortable pressure of his hand on her back, but instead, she blurts: “I don’t have asthma.”

He bites his lip, thinking, and then his eyes light up like he’s found the answer. “It’s probably the weather—have you ever run in the cold before? Especially when the weather changes so abruptly like this, the cold air is really dry, and since dry air is harder to breathe in, it can induce asthma-like symptoms like wheezing and coughing if you’re breathing a lot of air in though your mouth. Next time, try breathing through your nose—it filters out air impurities, and also warms cool air to body temperature so that it creates less shock for the lungs, thus decreasing those asthma-like symptoms you’re experiencing, and—wow, I’m sorry. I’m totally nerding out on you, aren’t I?”

“A little,” Iris laughs, shaking her head in amusement, trying to make sense of what he’d been saying. “But thanks. That’s…good to know, I guess.”

She starts to push herself off the ground, and the guy is on his feet in a flash, extending a hand towards her to help her stand. She accepts it gratefully, and he helps her stand on shaky legs, catching her as she wobbles a bit, obviously still recovering. He looks at her with concern, and then that light goes off in his eyes again, one that she’s sure means he must have an idea.

“Where do you live? Sorry, that—I didn’t mean to sound creepy. That probably sounded creepy, didn’t it? I was just asking because you still don’t look so good—I mean, you look great, that’s not what I—”

“I go to Central City University. I live in a dorm on campus,” she cuts him off, fighting back a smile and sparing him the embarrassment, even though she’s really, really tempted to let him go on. _Please, do tell me more about how great I look._

His smile takes her off guard, mostly because this time she’s not expecting it, and she wonders what brought it on. Because she’s pretty sure that’s pure excitement she’s seeing in his eyes.

“No way—you go to CCU too?”

Her stomach does a little flip-flop, and she feels a thrill of excitement of her own as that registers— _she goes to the same school as Cute Runner Boy_? But how didn’t she know…? She squints at him, trying to discern if she’s ever seen him around before and maybe just not realized it, because their student body isn’t _that_  big and it’s strange that they’ve never run into each other outside of, well, running into each other.

“Yeah, I do. How come I’ve never seen you around before?”

“I don’t know…?  Huh…what do you study?”

“I’m an English major, with a concentration in journalism. You?”

“Well, that’s why, I guess. I’m a Chemistry and Physics double-major—all our classes have probably all been in entirely different buildings. Still, you would think…never mind. What I was going to say before is that the campus is pretty far from here. You probably shouldn’t go back by yourself, in case something like this happens again.” He glances behind him, looking pensive, and then back to her, and she has the distinct feeling that she’s missing something. “Listen—I have an apartment off campus–it isn’t far from here. I could run back there with you, since you should really take a break, get some water before you even think about exerting yourself again. This is towards the end of my run, anyway, so I don’t mind.”

She gives him a horrified look, and it takes him a second to realize his mistake. “I’m sorry, I—oh! I meant walk. We can  _walk_  back there, not run. No more running. I’ll even carry you, if you don’t think you can manage.”

If it were anyone else, she would think they were mocking her, but he actually seems… _genuine_ about the offer. The walking sounds better, much better, but she’s going to hang onto whatever shreds of dignity she has left,  _thankyouverymuch_. Which means not accepting piggy-back rides from strangers she meets in the woods. Which, now that she thinks about, sounds really weird, and—yeah. This should be a lot creepier than it is, actually, and yet…she feels at ease around him. He’s about as threatening as a teddy bear, anyway, and—wait. Her eyes widen in disbelief as another thing he’s said hits her.

“Wait, what do you mean, this was towards the end of your run?”

“That…this is towards the end of my run…?“

“But—but you don’t even look tired! You _never_  look tired,” she sputters indignantly, feeling a sudden stab of jealousy. She’s always assumed that she was catching him at the beginning, that that was the reason he barely seemed to break a sweat, but  _this_ …and all while she’s over here wheezing and probably looks a goddamn sweaty mess, too, oh man,  _no fucking way_. “Please tell me your runs are short, you know—like, two miles…?”

“Ah, no, actually,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and shuffling his feet a bit. “I’m training for a marathon, so my runs are anywhere between five to twenty-five miles. You know, five being a short day, anything over twenty being long. Sometimes more, if I’m feeling good, but since this trail is so close to my apartment there’s this loop I do at the end of all my runs that takes me right through it.”

“ _Twenty-five_ , are you—dude, are you shitting me?”

“Uh—I—uh—”

“Who’s making you do it? My friend Linda bullied me into running this charity 5K for her sorority, which is why I’ve been out here and all, but God–whoever this person is you’re subjected yourself to that for, they must be really special.”

“I’m not—no one is—I’m just doing it for fun, actually. I like running.”

“For  _fun?_ You…like…wow. Wooow.”

“Um. I’m…sorry?” he looks so adorably confused, so nervous that he’s actually offended her, that she can’t hold a grudge against him for long. After all, it’s not a bad thing, necessarily, it’s just…weird. But, hey, she can handle weird.

“I mean, don’t apologize to me. If anything, it’s yourself you should be apologizing to.” She tries to take a step forward to pat him on the shoulder—whether out of pity that this is what he does for fun or awe that he’s apparently that motivated, she can’t really decide—and feels her legs shake underneath her. She tries to swallow, and finds that her throat is incredibly dry, like someone’s stuffed a whole bunch of cotton balls into her mouth that she can’t spit out.

“Eugh—you know what, I think I’m going to take you up on that offer, if you can drive me back to campus once we get to your place. I need a glass of water, like, ASAP.”

“Sure thing,” he smiles brightly at her, and inclines his head to the direction where he’d been running towards before. “Just follow me, it’s not far—there’s a short cut we can take.”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, unfortunately, the so-called short-cut he’s talking about includes one very large, very intimidating-looking hill.

“You didn’t say anything about a hill,” she groans, freezing in place just as he’s about to make the trek up it. “I don’t think I have the energy for that right now.”

“I mean, my offer still stands—I could carry you, if you want.”

She’s about to refuse, but then she takes another look at the sharp incline looming straight ahead, and her resolve crumbles. She nods, motions for him to turn around, and sucking up her pride, she prepares to clamber onto his back. Just as she’s got her hand on his shoulder, ready to jump on and pull herself up, she freezes, throwing caution into the wind.

“You know, I should have asked this earlier—precaution and all—but you’re not, like, a serial killer or something, are you? You could just have a deceptively innocent face.”

“No,” he lets out a startled laugh, one that she can feel rumbling against the hand she’s got resting on his shoulder. “Although if I were, I doubt I’d actually tell you that.”

“True,” she shrugs, thinks  _‘ah, fuck it’_ , and hops onto his back, hooking her arms around his neck as he grabs underneath her legs to hold her steady.

Which is how she totally does end up accepting a piggy-back ride, of sorts, in the woods, from a total stranger. A stranger whose name is Barry, she finds out while they’re talking and he’s carrying her up the hill, with her cheek pressed up against his back and a smile on her lips. He asks her if maybe she’d be up for meeting for coffee some day soon, in the University cafe, and she says yes without even having to think twice. 

Okay, so maybe not a total stranger, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://bisexualiriswest.tumblr.com/), as most of these prompt fills are.


End file.
